Not a Good Man, But a Perfect Soldier
by CallMeASaint
Summary: Eventually, when the others had failed to bring her in, they'd sent the soldier.
1. Prologue: No Lawman Could Bring Her In

_So this is my first story...ever. I hope you enjoy it. I'll try to stay on top of it and update fairly regularly as much as my real life will allow. You know how it goes with work and school. If you like the it, let me know in a review._

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Prologue: No Lawman Could Bring Her In

Eventually, when the others had failed to bring her in, they'd sent the solider. Charlotte had seen some scary shit before, but nothing like him. She tried every trick she knew to throw him off her trail, but it was all in vain. He cornered her on an empty subway car. A mask and goggles covered his face, dehumanizing him more than his frightening metal arm. For a deranged moment, she wondered how far she'd have to push to get him to kill her. Surely dying would be better than going back. She forced those thoughts away, unsure if the desire to live was an act of defiance or cowardice. There would be time enough later to figure it out.

Charlotte had reached the end of the moving subway car, had moved to the corner and squeezed herself down between seats. It was a futile effort, but she wrapped her hands around the pieces of metal supporting the seats. He was going to have to work for it. Or that was what she had hoped anyway. That wicked arm of his ripped a set of seats away so quickly she didn't have time to let go and the torn, jagged metal sliced through her right palm. Her mind barely registered the pain before he was yanking her to her feet. Even knowing it was completely useless, she kicked and screamed and clawed at him. She succeeded only in knocking his goggles off.

Right before that heavy, metal fist of his connected with her face, she had the stupidest thought that his eyes were the color of a storm.


	2. Chapter 1: Something Other Than a Man

_I just want to thank the wonderful people who decided to follow or favorite, and especially those who reviewed. It's all so encouraging. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!_

 _Warning: attempted suicide._

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Chapter 1: Something Other Than a Man

The first time Charlotte was taken, she had screamed and railed and fought tooth and nail. She didn't want to make anything easy on them, but soon she realized she needed them to let their guard down enough to learn what she needed to to make a break for it. So she'd gradually gave up fighting, appearing broken.

After being dragged back, being broken was less of an appearance. The fight wasn't in her like it had been the first time. All that was left was fear and anger. Those emotions were useless, and she couldn't act on them. She had to consider what to do with them. The fear was going to drive her to madness and the anger would burn her from the inside out. She didn't see much of another choice, except to bury them. So that's what she did. She buried it all down. She'd take everything they did to her and survive. No matter what, she would survive.

It had become a routine to be marched, or rolled in a wheelchair when she wasn't capable of walking, from her stark little cell to an exam room or a testing booth. She had lost count of how many times her blood had been drawn, her bones broken, how many tests were done just to push her limits, how many times she had been put under and woken up with a new surgical incision.

The day the Avengers had come to rain down hell on the Hydra base, she been unconscious and strapped down to an operating table. She'd later find out that it was Iron Man himself who had found her, and carefully carried her to safety.

Seven other women were saved that day, besides just Charlotte. One died before they could even make it back to the medical facility they were being taken to. Three more died in the days following the rescue. She wondered if death wouldn't be preferable to the existence they had been forced into. Especially, after finding out what the point of it all had been.

After a couple weeks the doctors were able to piece together what had been done to the women and why, but Charlotte could only seem to grasp the gist of what she was told. Hydra had been trying to engineer an army of super soldiers, but things got messy when you started the process with adults. So they'd decided to build from scratch. They would design the super solider from the DNA up. However, the average womb could not withstand a child with super strength, so they would need to make the surrogates more durable. Unfortunately, Hydra's scientists were having difficulty finding the right balance with their serum. They needed the women durable, but without too much added strength. Too strong and it would be too difficult to control the women. They were also having trouble finding the right subjects, because the serum they believed to be their answer, was also killing most of the people it was tried on. It appeared that Charlotte and the other women still alive were the few that the serum had worked as intended on.

Charlotte decided she needed to keep pushing the fear and anger down, and every other emotion for that matter. She knew herself well enough that if she tried to process this new information after so recently being rescued, she'd lose her sanity.

Two days after learning the facts of their situation, one of the other women tried to cut her wrists with a broken piece of glass. She'd healed too quickly to succeeded in killing herself. She was found howling in horror and rage and sorrow. The sound she'd made would forever echo in Charlotte's nightmares.

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About a week later a man named Sam Wilson paid Charlotte a visit. The Avengers had found a file on her at the base that had interested them. He had questions for her, but they weren't like the ones the doctors and therapists asked about her health and what had been done to her.

"You managed to escape a Hydra base, and to evade all their agents that had been sent to take you back. That's impressive. You're impressive." Sam told her, sounding genuine.

She didn't respond, because that didn't matter now. Or maybe it was just her that it didn't matter to her now.

"I need to ask you about the man that finally did capture you," he continued. He didn't seem to take her lack of a response personal. "I understand if talking about it is hard, but anything you can tell me about your encounter with him would be very helpful."

"I don't know anything about him," she answered honestly. She hadn't given the soldier much thought since she arrived at the Avengers' medical facility.

"You're the first person we've come across that we've been able to confirm that has not only heard of him but has had direct contact." Sam gave her a look that was half apologetic and half hopeful.

Charlotte looked out the window they were sitting in front of as she gathered her thoughts. She didn't immediately answer, but when she did she notice it sounded like she could have been talking about the weather. "I thought staying as far off the grid as I could get was the best idea. I was avoiding anything I thought might tip them off. I knew they were sending people to track me, so I kept moving. I barely slept, I just kept going. I never saw him coming though. I had been trying to rest on the subway. It was late and the car was empty, and I thought I'd be safe enough for the time being to just stay put for a little while. I must have dosed off, because the next thing I know there's a man standing above me." She paused, remembering how he had loomed over her like some sort of monster parents should be warning their children about. "His face was covered by a mask and goggles. I managed to knock the goggles off, but only just barely saw his eyes, not the rest of his face, before he knocked me out. I woke up back at the Hydra base."

"Is there anything about him that stuck out to you?" Sam's voice was quiet, like he didn't want to push too hard.

"Aside from the metal arm?" she asked flatly.

Sam's mouth quirked up into almost a smile. "Every little detail helps."

She thought back, trying to remember. "The way he moved was very predatory. He was silent too, never said a word. But when I knocked his goggles off, I noticed his eyes were st - blue. I think they were blue." She caught herself from saying storm colored, because how do explain what color a storm was?

Sam gave her a business card when he left. On it was his contact information. He asked that she give him a call if she remembered anything else. She assured him that she had told him everything she could remember. She wondered about the Avengers interest in the soldier. He'd been terrifying, and nothing like anything she'd ever seen before. He'd been more weapon than human. Or maybe more dog than man since he was the one Hydra was using for retrieval. She thought if she ever allowed herself to feel anything again, she might hate the soldier.


	3. Chapter 2: Those Old Familiar Feelings

Chapter 2: Those Old Familiar Feelings

To see how the experiments were effecting them long term, the survivors' health was closely monitored. As the weeks passed, Charlotte tried not to notice the similarities of the medical facility she was currently being kept at and the one she had been held at before. The tests were really what got her. She was being pricked and poked and every little minuscule thing about her scrutinized. The longer it went on, the deeper she buried her head in the sand.

The hours spent not in the medical labs were spent with a therapist. Dr. Johnson, the one in charge of her mental health, repeatedly expressed concern that she needed to open up. To do more than recite the facts of what had happened to her, she needed to talk about what was going on inside of her head. It also worried the good doctor that she had not made any significant connection with any of the other survivors. A couple of the other women had tried to reached out to her, but Charlotte was convinced that if she cracked the lid on her emotions even the slightest bit, she'd never get them contained again. And as far as she could tell the other women weren't coping any better than the she was.

She found herself sitting at in a circle with the others and Dr. Johnson. It was just like any of the of other numerous group therapy meetings they had endured together. Evie, the blonde who seemed to endlessly cry, was across from her. Jasmine, on her right, who had tried to end her life, had a blank expression on her face. Jasmine was on a heavier dose of meds than the rest of them. Not that what Charlotte was taking was anything to shake a stick at. Then there was Mary who was sitting between Dr. Johnson and Evie. Mary was presently expressing herself with a string of curse words that were not even making sense anymore. Evie was sobbing, and not for the first time Charlotte noted that the gorgeous blonde even cried pretty. With a sigh Dr. Johnson called an end to the meeting. It was just as well as far as Charlotte was concerned. She was expected for a checkup in the medical labs anyway.

She shuffled down the hall, avoiding eye contact with anyone she passed just in case they wanted to be friendly and speak. She found the right room, climbed on to the exam table and stripped off the hoodie she was wearing. The medical doctor did not leave her waiting long. It was the same routine checkup that she got once a week. Mostly just checking her vitals, and a few questions about her health. When it was over, the doctor opened the door and waited while Charlotte pulled her hoodie back on over her t-shirt. He told her that everything looked normal and that if anything changed, to let them know immediately. She tuned him out as she followed him out of the exam room. It was the same thing she heard every week.

Shouts caused Charlotte to look up. Through the open doorway of the exam room across the hall, she could see several men were struggling with someone on a hospital bed. They seemed to have been trying to hold someone down. One of the men went flying backwards, and for the briefest of moments she saw a metal fist.

Her heart stopped.

He was here.

The soldier.

Charlotte did not even realize she had started moving toward the commotion until after she was shrugging her doctor off of her. She stopped at the foot of the bed. The doctor tried to pull her away again, but she yanked her arm out of his grasp. The men struggling against the Soldier paid her no attention. The soldier himself continued to fight against the men and took no notice of her. She realized that the men were trying to tie him to the bed, when they used straps to restrain his arm.

The sight of them tying him down struck her as wrong. Her own memories of being tied down like an animal flooded her mind. In the beginning she had screamed and fought against the Hydra doctors and agents, much like he was doing now. Those familiar feelings of fear and hopelessness washed through her. She had not been able to escape, and even when they had broken her and she had begged, no one had helped her. In that moment she could not stand idly by and watch that be done to someone else.

"Don't tie him down!" She shoved at the man closes to her.

She reached for the soldier's wrist, the flesh and blood one, the one the men had managed to secure. She clawed at the straps frantically. Someone grabbed her from behind and started to drag her away, but she kicked back hard enough that they let her go. It took a few tries but she managed to his arm free.

The soldier reached out with his newly freed hand and grabbed a fist full of her hoodie and yanked her close.

"Don't." He snarled at her before forcibly shoving her back.

Charlotte crashed into her medical doctor. She struggled, but the he had a firm hold of her. He dragged her from the room while she screamed for them to leave the soldier be. She continued to fight against the hold he had on her. Out of nowhere she felt a stinging prick, and the world tilted, before she lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 3: In Loving Memory Of

Just a super quick shout out to all of you who have followed and favorited this story. Thank y'all so much! It's very encouraging.

And if any of you would like to leave a review, I would really appreciate it.

Now, on with the story!

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Chapter 3: In Loving Memory Of

Steve Rogers stood a few feet from the end of the bed, looking at the man tied to it. He was trying to find something he recognized in the familiar face. Anything. But it seemed that everything he had known had been worn away with time.

The soldier glared from his place in the bed. He knew who the man in front of him was. Knew their shared history. None of it mattered though. There was absolutely nothing left of the man Steve Rogers was looking for. The twisted, mutilated thing that had exited the hell Bucky Barnes had entered, was a miscreation. Rogers needed to get that through his thick skull.

Steve looked to the floor, giving up the search. For the time being.

"I'm not happy this either, Buck." Steve looked up again, nodding at the soldier's bonds. "But this is just a pit stop. We're getting a couple things in order before we can move again."

The soldier flexed his fists, hating the reminder of the straps holding him down.

"There are…" Steve looked like he struggled with himself for a moment, unsure if he should say something. "Some of Hydra's victims are being treated here. That woman from early?"

The soldier didn't acknowledge the question. He'd nearly forgotten about her. When they had tied him down, she'd come out of nowhere, shrieking and trying to free him. She had been visibly unstable. He had shoved her back, not wanting her help.

"Do you remember her?" It wasn't so much the question, but Steve's guarded tone that caused the soldier to ever so slightly titl his head. Rogers took that as an indication that he should continue. "She was, uh... she was one of the women Hydra had. But don't worry about it, okay? We're getting out of here in the morning. I'm going to stay here with you until then."

The soldier didn't need Bucky's memories of his friend to know Rogers was lying. The other man was horrible at deception. If he had a sense of humor, he would have chuckled at the miserable act. Instead the soldier watched in a unyielding silence as Rogers settled into a chair to the right, preparing to keep vigil over the memory of his friend.


	5. Chapter 4: When the Levees Break

Chapter 4: When the Levees Break

Charlotte said _I don't know_ so many times she felt like a broken record. It was hours of questions before Dr. Johnson had finally let her go back to the little room she had been assigned. It was late, well past what was normally lights out for her and the other women, when she was escorted to her door. Once the door was closed behind her, she leaned against it and slid down until she was sitting.

She felt raw, like she was an exposed nerve. For so long, she had so successfully kept everything bottled up. Now she didn't know where to begin with the flood of emotions. Trying to process it all was too much. Her body shook with the force of the sobs she tried to bite back. _This was not coping,_ she thought, as she buried her face in arms, _this was drowning_.

The soldier's wild and desperate eyes came to mind. God help her. She remembered too well what it felt like to be helpless. Being so defenseless, that she couldn't even raise her arms up to shield herself, it had been the first true horror she had experienced at the hands of Hydra.

Why had she tried to help him? He didn't deserve it, especially not from her. The bastard had dragged her back to hell, to being tied down like an animal. He deserved whatever the Avengers had planned for him, and more. So much more.

But even as those angry words swirled through Charlotte's mind, another part of her thought was repelled by those wishes. No one should have to endure the kind of evil she and the other women had. Not even a Hydra agent. Kill him, or lock him away forever, just don't bring any more of that darkness into the world.

Eventually, she picked herself off the floor, and crawled into bed. Sleep eluded her, though. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw were desperate, storm colored eyes.


	6. Chapter 5: Anger is Easy

Chapter 5: Anger is Easy

"Do you still have the paint supplies I gave to you?" Dr. Johnson peered over the rims of her glasses. It wasn't really a question Charlotte realized, Dr. Johnson was simply reminding her. At her hesitant look, Dr. Johnson continued. "I want you to use them. I don't care what it is, I don't care if you finish it, and you don't have to show me if you don't want to. I just want you to paint. I want you to _try_."

"Sure." The agreement sounded uncommitted to even Charlotte, as she stood to leave, the session over. Once out of the room, she wiped at her face, trying to dry it. She'd been crying. Again.

It had been three days since her encounter with the soldier. She had gone back to the same routine. It was like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed, but she knew better. She was struggling. Her feelings that had been so neatly repressed before were overflowing. The constant tears were enough to push her to insanity.

Hours later, she was sitting her on little twin-size bed, considering the blank canvas across the room. It was propped up on its own easel just waiting for her to alter it. Before she might have painted something tame like a flower in a vase or a bowl of fruit all done with muted colors. Something someone could hang in a hotel room for all its lack of originality. Painting had never been a true outlet for her. She had never had the confidence to just paint what was in side of her.

But she'd never been so angry before, or humiliated. She had never been in such pain.

She stood up from her bed and walked the couple of steps to the desk next to the easel and canvas. The paints and brushes lay unopened next to a white mug and clean palette. She started to pull out a yellow and some white to mix together, but stopped. She stared at the red and the black for a moment. The woman she had been before would have diluted them, watering down their intensity. She would have made them mild.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought. She wasn't that woman anymore. She didn't care if what she painted wasn't what other people wanted to see.

Before she had always focused too much on techniques, and never just letting herself enjoy the experience. This time she picked an emotion and tried to get every bit of it that was trapped in her on to the canvas. Anger was easier to handle than the others things festering in her. Its colors were easy to identify and each stroke was done brazenly.

It was days later, during the free time before lights out, when she stood back and stared at what she had created. She was nearly done, but something was missing. There was something important that seemed to not be making it completely to the canvas and she struggled to figure out what it was.

"That's pretty good."

Charlotte started at the unexpected voice. Leaning against the door frame of her room was Mary.

"I heard he was the one who dragged you back after you escaped." Mary stepped further into room. Her eyes were roaming over the canvas.

Charlotte kicked herself for having left the door open. She had never intended for the piece to be seen by anyone.

"You know," Mary stood next to her. "They kept him in a cell a few down from mine."

"What?"

Mary nodded, but kept looking at the painting. "Before you sent missing I thought it was empty, because no one ever went near it. But then when you didn't come back they went in there and it seemed like hours before they dragged him out. Whatever they did to him after that was pretty bad, because we all hear his screams."

Charlotte stared in confused horror at Mary.

"You didn't know he was one of us?" Mary frowned at her.

"No." Charlotte looked back at the painting. She felt light headed.

"So then why did you try to help him the other day?"

Charlotte was a little surprised that Mary knew about that.

"They were trying to tie him down." She wondered if that would even make sense to anyone but herself.

Mary nodded, like that was the only explanation she needed. Charlotte realized by the sudden hardness in the other woman's eyes that she did understand.

"Fucking pricks." Mary was looking at the painting again, but her words weren't directed at the soldier depicted in it.


End file.
